


the problem with intent

by theslap (bigspoonnoya)



Series: mr. connor & friends [3]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Background Established Hank/Connor, Bad Decisions, Blow Jobs, Explicit Sexual Content, Hook-Up, Humor, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Thanksgiving Dinner, cole is alive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-01 14:24:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16766890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigspoonnoya/pseuds/theslap
Summary: It's not a good idea to fuck your brother's boyfriend's partner as revenge. It's an even worse idea to do it during Thanksgiving dinner.





	1. i

**Author's Note:**

> this is a Gavin/900 fic set in the same universe as my multichapter hankcon human AU, "the other way to someday," where connor is human and cole's second-grade teacher. in that fic, if you haven't read it, connor and his younger brother, niles, work together at an elementary school, connor as a teacher and niles as the librarian. gavin and hank are still cops, and are partners. this story is set several months after the events of the original fic.
> 
> this one was comissioned by taylor. thanks taylor. this is all your fault!

Hank Anderson will not pick up his goddamn phone.

It’s just Gavin’s luck, having a partner who won’t pick up his goddamn phone. He’s got Hank’s address memorized at this point, he’s had to fetch him so many times, all because he won’t pick up his goddamn phone.

Okay, it’s only happened twice. But that’s two more times than Gavin wanted to do it, so, _you know_.

Hank has one more chance to answer before Gavin gets out of his parked car, stomps across the street, and pounds on the front door of his beige suburban shithole. Yeah, sure, it’s Sunday, but Gavin still checked his work email because that’s what Gavin does, and he still saw the DNA results had come through on their worst open case. He acted immediately not because he doesn’t have a life outside of work—of course he has a life outside of work, hobbies and shit—but work is more important than hobbies. Work is more important than Sundays. Work is more important than whatever keeps Hank from answering his phone on the weekends, just because he sees it’s Gavin calling. Gavin _knows_ Hank is screening his calls.

Gavin hits the call button under Hank’s contact info and listens to the ringing. Once, twice.

“Lieutenant Hank Anderson’s phone,” says a voice that’s definitely not Hank’s.

“Who the hell is this?”

“The Lieutenant can’t come to the phone right now,” says the voice, a man’s voice, in a smooth imitation of a receptionist. “May I take a message?”

“No? Where’s Hank?”

“He’s occupied.”

“Jesus—fuck—” Gavin hangs up and throws his car door open. He stomps right across Hank’s half-dead lawn, no time for the concrete path to the side. The grass crunches under his feet.

There are several pumpkins on the front steps. Too many pumpkins. Gavin resists the urge to kick one, opting instead to ring the doorbell three times in quick succession. He can hear someone shout something on the other side of the door.

He doesn’t immediately recognize the person standing there when it opens. “Who’re you?” As per usual, he’s spoken too soon; another second and he remembers the blue eyes, the smooth, inviting features, the lanky build.

Niles. They’ve only met once before, but fuck if Gavin doesn’t remember it. Niles leans against the doorframe—he’s got a few inches on Gavin already, and more with the step up into the house. “Can I help you?”

“I’m here for Hank.”

“Oh, right. You’re the partner. The other partner.”

“Yeah,” says Gavin, stupidly. He can feel that he’s still glaring, but the angry wind has left his sails. He didn’t expect to encounter the weirdly hot brother of Hank’s weirdly hot boyfriend. How has Hank, an old bastard, surrounded himself with weirdly hot twinks and Gavin can’t even find a dick to suck in a dive bar on a weeknight?

Whatever. Hank is hot too, in a daddy kind of way, Gavin concedes. Maybe it makes sense.

After a long pause, which doesn’t seem to phase Niles at all, Gavin asks, “Can I… talk to him?”

“As I mentioned on the phone, he’s occupied.”

That explains that. “Why do you have his—” Gavin sniffs. “Are you smoking weed?”

“Yes.” Niles sighs. “As were your partner and my brother. And then they went upstairs. That was…” He checks his watch. “Approximately fifteen minutes ago. I’m guessing Hank will be available in another half an hour.” Niles flashes Gavin a thoroughly unpleasant smile. “Though that might be generous. I don’t know how his stamina is fairing in these twilight years.”

“Fuck that,” says Gavin under his breath. He came all the way here to ruin Hank’s Sunday and Hank has the audacity to be getting laid? Bullshit.

“I think he is. Do you want to wait for him? I would love to see his face if you’re here when they finish.”

Gavin is about to decline, but Niles grabs him by the scruff of his coat and drags him into the house. Not so much an invitation as a demand, huh.

The house smells strongly of marijuana, and there’s a pipe and a grinder on the coffee table. Niles floats over to the sofa and takes a seat, tucking socked feet under himself. Gavin stands in the middle of the living room, feeling awkward, probably looking awkward too.

“Where’s the kid?” he asks. He only just noticed what’s strange about this situation.

“Visiting the dead mother’s family for the weekend. Apparently they’re not big fans of her husband taking up with a thirty-something man, so Hank wasn’t invited.” Niles starts packing the pipe. “No idea why they’d object. Do you want a hit?”

Gavin squints at him. “You know I’m a cop, right?”

“Do you want a hit, _Officer_?”

“Detective,” Gavin corrects, sneering. He watches Niles light the pipe and inhale deeply.

It looks and smells great. Damn it.

Gavin sits on the opposite end of the couch from Niles, who passes him the pipe with that same mildly sinister smile. His nails are painted black, the polish chipped into circles.

Now he’s smoking weed from the same pipe as Hank and the weird hot twink brigade. Fucking bizarre day. He’s almost entirely forgotten the DNA results he was in such a hurry to show Hank. “He really agreed to let you smoke in his living room?”

“He agreed to let me smoke on the back porch. I took the liberty of moving inside when he left to go fuck my brother.”

Gavin snorts and smoke comes out of his nose. So he’s also stinking up Hank’s house with weed smoke against Hank’s will. Killer. “I would have pinned him for too boring to smoke.”

Niles shrugs. “He wasn’t going to. Connor talked him into it.”

“Connor smokes?”

“I got him started on it when we were teenagers.” Niles does another hit. Gavin finds himself watching the way his chest expands when he inhales. “Says it helps his anxiety.”

Gavin doesn’t know what to say to that, so he accepts the pipe and takes another, longer drag. He ends up coughing his brains out. Niles watches with mild interest—everything’s always mild with him. Like he’s only ever giving you half his attention.

“So you’re Hank’s partner.”

“Uh.” Gavin thwacks his chest. “Yeah.”

“That means you work on homicides?”

Gavin feels himself glare. He passes the pipe back. “Yeah?”

“What’s the most fucked up thing you’ve ever seen?”

It’s probably the weed that keeps him from telling Niles to fuck off right away. “You know,” he wheezes. “You’re kind of a freak.”

“Thank you.” Niles pulls his legs out from under himself and extends them across the center of the couch toward Gavin, though not quite far enough to touch him. Gavin shrinks against the armrest. “Hank won’t talk about work with me. The only interesting thing about him and he’s obnoxiously tight-lipped about it.”

Gavin stares at Niles through the V of his knees and hips. He’s wearing ripped black skinny jeans, and his crotch is just—there. He keeps his legs open, too, like he wants Gavin to have to look at it. But that would be… _You just need to get fucked, loser,_ he tells himself. _Projecting is pathetic._

“Can I get another?” Gavin asks hoarsely. Niles nods and passes the pipe. “You don’t like Hank.”

“What gave you that idea?”

Gavin is about to answer genuinely. He spies Niles’s mouth twitch, a tiny smile. Okay.

“You don’t like him either,” Niles observes, beckoning the pipe back from Gavin. He starts to refill it.

“Why do you say that?”

“Are you not here to ruin his Sunday off?” Niles raises an eyebrow. “It’s that, or… you’re lonely and this is your attempt to force someone to pay attention to you. Or you want to fuck him.” Niles shrugs. “I guess it could be some combination of the above, too.”

 _How the fuck is he right about all of that?_ Gavin grits his teeth. “You’ve got some fucking mouth on you.”

“I do.” Niles sets the pipe carefully on the coffee table. “Do you want to make out?”

Gavin grabs the pipe and lighter from the table, knowing he’s just misheard whatever Niles said. “Sorry?” he says, the lighter shaking in his hands.

“Do you want to make out?”

Oh, no, okay. He really did say that fucking thing.

Gavin exhales and for a moment his vision is obscured by smoke. When it clears, Niles is smirking at him.

Fuck, he’s high. His lips, his mouth, they feel bare and cold and empty. He tosses the lighter and pipe back to the table.

His body answers the question before he can think of the words to say what he wants. Niles can deduce it’s a yes when Gavin climbs between his knees. He grabs Gavin’s front, fisting his hands into the fabric of his shirt and the leather of his jacket, sitting up and tugging them together with a single heave. The collision of their mouths is just that, a collison, and though their teeth click and their noses smash painfully, Niles doesn’t hesitate to shove his tongue down Gavin’s throat.

After the initial discomfort they get the hang of it. For Gavin, that means relaxing into the grip Niles has on his face, letting himself be kissed long and deep and—soft. Niles holds him firmly, but the ministrations of his lips are oddly tender. It’s fucking bizarre. Gavin can’t remember the last time someone kissed him _softly_.

Then Niles drags Gavin’s lower lip through his teeth with a little more pressure than is painless. That’s more like it.

Niles’s hands slide down from his face, along his neck, and beneath his jacket, shoving it off his shoulders. Gavin tosses the garment away—free from the confines of the leather, he can move better, and uses the freedom to shove his hands beneath the hem of Niles’s shirt. The skin of his abdomen is pale and velvety and unmarred, opposite to Gavin’s own body, which Niles touches aimlessly. He seems to like grabbing at the muscular curves of Gavin’s arms and torso, and Gavin struggles not to—what’s the masculine version of a giggle? He’s spent a dumb amount of time at the gym to look the way he looks (see, he has _hobbies_ ) and he doesn’t get a lot of praise for it, because there’s no one to praise him. It’s nice being objectified, finally. He starts getting hard.

Niles presses against him in a bruising kiss, then pulls away abruptly, Gavin chasing his mouth, slack-jawed. Niles’s hands vacate the meat of Gavin’s pectorals and go to—his own jeans. To the button of his own jeans.

“Suck me off,” he says.

It’s not a request so much as a command.

Gavin glances at the stairs. There’s a thump over their heads, someone moving around up there. Maybe Gavin’s coworker, a person he’s got to see everyday at the station. He and Niles could get walked in on at any point. It’d be humiliating for Hank to see him on his knees.

Gavin looks at Niles, searching for something to say.

Niles raises an eyebrow. “You’ve got one of those faces. You want it, don’t you?” He opens his legs further, showing Gavin the bulge in his jeans.

Fuck. That bulge is calling him. Niles must be able to tell, must see the look on his face and know, because he grabs Gavin by the hair and starts pushing him to the floor. “Fuck,” Gavin mutters, settling on the floor between Niles’s knees and getting straight to work on his fly.

Above him, Niles laughs humorlessly. He grabs the pipe and lighter and starts to take another hit, smiling to himself. There’s nothing about his demeanor to suggest he’s anything less than in control, and that gets Gavin fucking _going_. Niles has a plan and Gavin’s just a pawn, a thing to be used as he sees fit. Right now Gavin has a simple mission: get Niles off.

With Niles’s fly undone, Gavin pulls down the elastic of his boxers and exposes his cock. Bigger than Gavin’s, which is enough to get Gavin salivating. Embarrassingly, Niles a little less hard than him, even though Niles the one getting sucked off. But Niles doesn’t need to know that Gavin went completely stiff upon being ordered to give a blowjob. Gavin tries to glare, to seem grudging about the whole thing, even though he’s about to start drooling on Niles’s dick.

He grips the base and dips forward to run his tongue over the tip. He looks up, in search of a reaction, but Niles isn’t even watching. His eyes are closed and he’s inhaling off the pipe.

Gavin’s dick twitches, straining against the tight crotch of his jeans. Fuck.

He uses the hand that’s not around Niles’s dick to stroke the skin of Niles’s stomach and hips, to which Niles also seems immune. After he’s thoroughly licked up and down the length of Niles’s growing erection—he can feel it get warmer against his tongue, holy shit—Gavin takes it in his mouth. He starts at the tip, lathing his tongue against the underside and hollowing his cheeks; Niles lets out a tiny sigh and shifts in his seat, which has to count as a reaction, even if his expression remains unimpressed.

Gavin swallows more. As much as he can without gagging. Niles finally looks down at him, and the corner of his mouth just barely turns up—the rush of blood to Gavin’s dick is enough that he thinks he might come in that instant, from a glance. He shuts his eyes and starts to suck, and work hislips and tongue against the length, and bob his head in intervals. The last time he blew someone was… two months ago? Three months ago? They met on one of those apps and Gavin blew the guy, who wasn’t even that hot, in the restroom of a McDonald’s. Desperate times.

Niles is hot. Hotter than that guy, hotter than most guys Gavin has been with. Gavin is giving him everything, every little trick he knows, every ounce of enthusiasm and want he can rouse. And Niles just sits there and watches him trying, his eyes cold and distant and achingly beautiful. He exhales and he’s surrounded by smoke. He could break Gavin’s everything just with the angles of his face, if it didn’t require an effort he’s unwilling to expend on Gavin’s behalf.

Gavin moans around Niles’s dick. Niles threads his fingers through Gavin’s hair and starts to guide his head—making Gavin move faster, jerking himself off with Gavin’s mouth. Gavin goes slack and lets him, moaning more, moaning like an idiot, and touching himself over his jeans.

Niles’s head falls back. Gavin’s intuition tells him that Niles is getting close, and it’s a good fucking thing, because Gavin doesn’t know how much longer he can last. He writhes in place, shifting his dick in his pants just enough to stimulate it, so he can come in his jeans while he’s high. Just like he’s fourteen again.

Niles’s fingers tighten in Gavin’s hair. Gavin drools—saliva and precum drip down his chin and onto the sofa cushions. Niles has set aside the weed and now focuses on pummeling Gavin’s mouth, his hips flinching forward with each shallow thrust.

Niles sighs heavily, and his thighs go stiff. Gavin doesn’t realize Niles is coming until he feels cum hitting the back of his throat.

The combined sensation and realization—that Niles has come in his mouth and that he’s already swallowing it—pushes Gavin over the edge. He fucks up against the carpet, grinding down on his crotch, coming wet and messy in his jeans with his lips still around Niles’s spent cock. The corners of his vision go white and he hears himself moaning more, moaning again and louder. He wonders what he must look like to Niles right now, getting off by humping a carpet after swallowing a full load. At the very least he hopes it makes Niles want to fuck him up the ass, just to see what would happen. He seems mildly curious about Gavin’s reactions, at least.

Gavin removes himself from Niles’s dick, sitting with his back against the coffee table. He watches Niles wipe off his dick and tuck it back into his pants.

They stare at each other blankly for a while. Stoned out of their minds and catching their breaths.

“Dog,” says Niles. He gets up and leaves the living room, just like that. _Dog_. What does it mean?

Gavin registers more thumping upstairs. He registers it, but he doesn’t know what to make of it.

The stairs creak behind him. Oh.

“Gav?”

Gavin twists around and peers at Hank over the coffee table. He doesn’t look especially happy to see Gavin on his living room floor on a Sunday after he’s just finished getting laid. He looks like he got dressed in a hurry—sweatpants, and a t-shirt on backwards.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he asks.

“DNA,” says Gavin numbly.

“Fuck, are you high? And why is the dog barking? He’s been going on for twenty minutes.”

“He has?” Gavin didn’t hear a dog barking. Granted, he’s been… busy.

Niles’s voice floats in from the kitchen: “I got him.” A collar jingles and Hank’s massive dog trots into the living room, followed by Niles. “I let him out and forgot to let him back in.”

Hank looks supremely annoyed, and he doesn’t know the half of it.

Gavin clambers to his feet. He grabs his jacket. “I should probably get going. Case thing… can wait.”

“I’ll call you a car,” says Hank. “You shouldn’t be driving.” Gavin scoffs and sways in place. Hank points at Niles. “You. We’re going to talk. It stinks in here.”

Niles smiles sweetly as Hank takes Gavin by the arm and drags him out the front door. “Goodbye, Detective Gavin,” he simpers. Gavin gapes at him until he’s whisked outside.

“Did you actually have a case reason for coming here?” Hank asks. He takes Gavin’s phone from his pocket and pulls up a ride sharing app.

“Yeah.” Not that he can remember what it is, now.

“It couldn’t wait sixteen hours?”

Gavin shrugs. “I didn’t know you’d be… I didn’t expect a weed sex party.”

“A weed… are you twelve?”

“You don’t fuck both brothers, right?” That’s Gavin’s way of asking if Niles is single, but it doesn’t go over as such.

Hank takes a deep breath, his brow furrowed with barely contained rage. “Don’t come to my house again, Reed.” He shoves Gavin’s phone back into his hands. “I’ll see you tomorrow. So we can continue our professional relationship. Which is the only kind of relationship we have. All right?”

“Of course, Lieutenant,” Gavin sneers.

Hank doesn’t give him the dignity of a goodbye. He stalks back into his house, leaving Gavin to wait for his ride on the front lawn, shifting uncomfortably in his soiled jeans.

###

Gavin wakes up on Monday morning completely sober. He remembers everything, which is terrible and great. Terrible because he’s going to have to roll out of bed and go into the station and face Hank. Great because he now has wank fodder to tide him over for weeks.

He’s lucky, because Hank doesn’t bring it up. Hank doesn’t make eye contact with him either, but that’s not the worst thing. They get through a round of paperwork and put together a line-up.

Around mid-morning, Hank looks at his phone and swears. It sounds _personal_.

It is personal: fifteen minutes later, they’re sitting at their desks and Connor walks into the bullpen. There’s a hot second—and hot as in physically very warm around his collar—where Gavin thinks it’s Niles, that Niles has showed up to his work. But the lavender sweater over a collared shirt gives Connor away.

Hank shoots out of his seat, cornering him by the bullpen entrance, like he wants to keep him away from Gavin. Gavin leans back in his chair chewing his thumbnail and watching them.

“I told you you didn’t need to come in,” says Hank, keeping his voice down.

“But you forgot—”

“I can buy lunch.”

“You can’t buy your medication.” Connor shoves a brown bag into Hank’s chest. Hank accepts it with an eye roll.

“Okay. I got it. Don’t you need to get back to school?”

“I’m on my lunch. Do you want to eat together?”

Hank’s voice softens when he says, “Yeah, sure.” Gavin turns away quickly—Hank is coming back to their desks and he doesn’t want to get caught eavesdropping. “Let me just grab my stuff.”

Connor trots after Hank, then spots Gavin. “Detective Reed. Hello.”

“Hey,” says Gavin, his voice cracking. He clears his throat and continues, lower, “How’re you?”

“I’m well, thank you. And yourself?”

Gavin shrugs. He hopes it’ll throw Connor’s attention off him—it’s weird seeing Connor. He looks so much like Niles, and acts so opposite.

His efforts are unsuccessful. Connor continues his polite barrage. “Do you have plans for the holiday?”

“What holiday?” Gavin asks, not making eye contact.

“Thanksgiving? It’s next week.”

Hank tosses Gavin a look that says, _How are you this pathetic?_

“Oh, right,” says Gavin. “I’ll probably get Chinese.” Him and the family aren’t on great terms, though he doesn’t offer up that explanation.

Connor looks at Hank. Hank, halfway through putting on his coat, freezes. “No, Con.”

Connor keeps looking at him. Expectant.

“Connor, _no_.”

Gavin glances between the two of them. Clearly they’re having some kind of psychic argument, but he doesn’t know what it’s about.

Connor turns to Gavin, smiling. “Do you want to come to Thanksgiving at our house?”

Gavin’s mouth falls open, but his lips are twisted into a sort of horrified sneer.

“He doesn’t want to,” says Hank, rubbing his temples.

Gavin’s a little shit, and he knows he’s a little shit, because the moment he realizes that Hank really, really doesn’t want him at Thanksgiving is the moment he declares, “Actually, Connor, I’d love to come to your Thanksgiving. So nice of you to offer.”

He can feel Hank’s dagger eyes on his neck, but he focuses on smiling at Connor with a manufactured sweetness.

“Wonderful,” says Connor, also ignoring Hank. “It’ll just be Hank and Cole and I—and my brother Niles. Have you gotten to meet him yet?”

The smile slides off Gavin’s face.

“Yeah,” Hank grunts, “they’ve met.” Gavin flinches. Hank doesn’t know what happened between him and Niles, because if he did, Gavin would be sporting a black eye for further inserting himself into Hank’s life. But the way Hank says _they’ve met_ is unsettling. Hank’s glory days are over but he’s not a terrible detective. Suppose he’s caught on to something between Gavin and Niles. Suppose he’s keeping an eye out.

 _Then I’ll just be better,_ Gavin decides _._ If Hank’s going to play that game, Gavin will give him a run for his goddamn money. He always liked going undercover, and this is basically the same thing, right? Hank won’t find out anything Gavin doesn’t want him to know. “We’ve met, yeah,” Gavin replies. “Thanks for the invite, Con. Really looking forward to it.” He winks at Hank, who shakes his head and starts marching out of the bullpen.

“See you after lunch, Reed.”

Connor follows him, walking backward so he can say his goodbyes. “Dinner is at five, so you’ll want to arrive earlier than that. Do you have any dietary restrictions?” Hank gets an arm around Connor and steers him away. “Just let Hank know later! Bye, Detective Reed!”

Gavin just barely lifts his hand to wave.

Only then does it settle in—what he’s just agreed to do. What he’s going to go through so he can stick it to Hank. What he’s going to feel when he sees Niles again.

Well, fuck.

###

(01:19 PM) _It’s our first Thanksgiving together as a family._

(01:20 PM) _Please behave._

(01:20 PM) _Please, Niles._

After staring at the texts for an hour, Niles decides the read receipt is enough of a response. He doesn’t want to have to remind Connor that the two of them have spent this pointless holiday together every year for the past several decades. He shouldn’t have to make that observation. Their ‘first Thanksgiving as a family’—and Connor begs him to _behave_.

Hank and Connor have the food covered, so Niles brings booze. Chardonnay for Connor, scotch for himself.

He parks his bike at the end of the driveway. There’s another car, one he doesn’t recognize, sitting in his usual spot in front of the house. One of the neighbors has company, maybe.

The front door is unlocked and Niles slips inside without announcing himself. He’s met with a wave of heat and the sound of background music and the smell of cooking.

“Hi Niles!”

Cole is sitting on the floor, a board game laid out in front of him, and across from him is Detective Gavin Reed.

Detective Gavin Reed stares at Niles with an expression that would probably make Niles laugh if he weren’t fighting off annoyance. When he let Gavin suck him off, he assumed they had a nonverbal agreement not to let it become a _thing_. A topic they need to dance around. Gavin attending their family Thanksgiving seems like an obvious violation of that agreement.

And yet he’s here, playing _Sorry_ with his partner’s kid, with his partner’s dog’s head in his lap. This is why Niles prefers anonymous sex—he’d let his anger with Hank and Connor get the better of him and broken his own code. Now he’s reaping the consequences.

“Hello, Cole,” he says, and walks past them into the kitchen. Hopefully Gavin will get the message.

As soon as Niles enters the kitchen, he’s accosted by his brother, who wears an apron and seems more than a little panicked.

“Did you get my text?”

Niles sighs. “Yes.”

“Did you bring it? Where is it?”

“Bring what?”

Connor wheels away from Niles. “He didn’t bring it.” He’s addressing Hank, who stands by the stove stirring something.

Niles pulls out his phone and quickly checks his conversation with Connor. He had muted after the thing about _behaving_.

(04:56 PM) _Pie emergency. Please bring Irish butter._

“Can you use regular butter?” Hank sighs. Judging by his tone, the pie emergency has worn out its welcome.

“No,” Connor snaps. “Technically, yes, but it won’t be the same.”

Niles shoves his phone away and sets the liquor on the kitchen island. “I can go back out.” He’d rather face the sad reality of a supermarket at dinnertime on Thanksgiving than be in this house right now.

Connor turns back to Niles, practically vibrating. “You would?”

“I guess?” Niles doesn’t know what Irish butter is and anticipates he’ll fuck up, but he’s willing to put his own comfort ahead of Connor’s pie.

“Actually—” Hank steps forward and puts his hands on Connor’s shoulders. “I think it might be good for you to get out of this kitchen. You’ve been cooking for hours. And you know me and Niles are just going to bring home more regular butter.”

“Are you sure?” Connor asks. “The potatoes—”

Hank has started helping Connor out of his apron. “I’ve got the potatoes under control.”

“You need to watch the internal temperature on the turkey—”

“Yep, I’ll keep an eye on your turkey EKG.” Hank puts a hand on Connor’s cheek. Niles looks away. “Go get some air.”

Connor falls quiet, then sighs. “Okay.” He and Hank stop touching each other, thank god. The pair of them could slay appetites.

Niles plucks the wine he brought from the bag. “I’m putting this in the fridge for when you get back. It seems needed.”

“Thank you.” Connor touches Niles’s arm on his way out of the kitchen. They’ve never been ones for hugging. “I’ll be right back. Twenty minutes.”

And Connor leaves Niles alone with Hank.

Niles licks his lips and starts searching the cabinets. Time to start on that scotch.

“The one to the left of the fridge,” Hank offers, without looking up from a large pot on the stove.

Niles follows his instructions, trying not to let it bother him that Hank knew exactly what he wanted. “You’re learning how to handle Connor, I see,” he says, pouring himself a generous double.

Hank laughs dryly. “Yeah. Something like that.”

“He could get himself upset over anything.” Niles finds himself talking with a tight jaw. “Even butter.” He sips the drink and shuts his eyes, feeling it coat his throat. Connor’s capacity to care grates on him, but he’s jealous, too. He can’t work up that much emotion over big things.

“I don’t think it’s really about the butter.”

Niles turns around and leans against the kitchen counter. He watches Hank fish out a cube of potato and test its firmness with a fork. “What’s it about?”

“He thinks if our first Thanksgiving doesn’t go perfect, we’ll all drop dead.” That does sound like Connor, painting everything as either _perfect_ or _bad_. Hank returns the potato to the pot. “And that Saint Mary’s thing is stressing him out.”

“What Saint Mary’s thing?”

“That private school.” Hank bends down to peek at the turkey. “The one that wants to hire him. He’s been back and forth about it all week. Keeps talking about pros and cons.”

Saint Mary’s. Niles knows it—a big school out from the city, housing kindergarten all the way through twelfth grade. The place where rich suburban parents send their precious children in lieu of trusting the Detroit public school system.

Niles takes a long drink. “Connor applied there?”

“Uh, I think so? He’s been looking at administrative jobs. They want him to be assistant dean of the primary school.” Hank straightens up and squints at Niles. “He didn’t tell you about it?”

Niles doesn’t bother faking a smile. “He did not.”

“I bet he had his reasons,” Hank says, like that’s supposed to help. “It’s a good offer. More money. They’d let Cole go there for free. One step closer to being a principal someday.”

Niles wants to tell Hank to shut up, to stop trying to fix it, to cut his losses. But his throat is tight, too tight to acknowledge any of what Hank’s just said outright. He clenches his jaw painfully, then manages, “I’m sure he’ll be thrilled with your snitching.”

Hank blanches. “Ah, shit.”

“I’m going to go smoke a cigarette on your back porch,” Niles announces, surging past Hank toward the back door, letting it slam behind him.

###

He’s almost finished his first cigarette when the porch door opens.

He expects Connor, returned from his butter quest, ready to deliver some pathetic excuse as to why he didn’t tell his brother he might be leaving their shared place of work.

Instead he gets Gavin Reed. He can’t say this is a better option.

“Can I bum one?”

Niles heaves a sigh, sets down his scotch, and smacks the packet. He extracts a cigarette and hands it to Gavin, who puts it between his lips. Niles is sitting in one of those crappy plastic lawn chairs—it’s all Hank had—so Gavin has to crouch to get a light. When he gets closer, the porch light throws the scar across his nose into relief. Niles barely noticed it last time.

Gavin stands back up, takes a drag. “Thanks.”

It’s quiet for a second while the two of them smoke. Niles starts on his second.

“Why are you here?” he asks.

“Connor invited me.”

Niles has to laugh. “Of course he did.” _Why is my brother conspiring against me?_

“You’re always mad at him, huh?”

Niles glances sideways at Gavin, who apparently thinks this is a good moment for casual psychoanalysis. At least they’re not talking about the blowjob.

“I get it,” Gavin adds. “I got a brother. He’s a piece of shit. But I don’t talk to him. Because he’s a piece of shit.”

“I have no problem with Connor.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I don’t. I wish he’d fuck someone age appropriate, that’s all.”

“Then why are you mad?”

“I’m not mad.”

Gavin rolls his eyes. “Yeah, sure. Slamming doors and chain-smoking on the back porch during Thanksgiving. Reeks of happiness.”

Niles raises his scotch to his mouth and sips. Is he going to submit to Gavin’s weak attempt at bonding? It’d be an act of desperation, a lapse of his self-control. But it could feel good, saying it aloud. Cathartic.

“Connor and I went into education for the same reason. He put me up for my current job. And now he wants to leave, to go to a private school, so he can be a dean. All of which he hid from me, because he knew I’d see it for what it is.” Niles smiles into his drink. “Selling out.”

There; now he’s said what he’s thinking. He waits for the catharsis he promised himself, but he only feels… heavy.

Gavin, in the middle of a drag, pulls a face. He exhales. “You two have issues.”

“How astute of you.”

“I thought your problem was with Hank. But you don’t like him because Connor does, huh?”

Niles snorts. He’s never considered that his dislike of Hank might not be objective. It’s an absurd, maybe correct idea. “Does it matter why I don’t like him?”

“I guess not. You don’t like Connor, you don’t like Hank. What about the kid?”

“More tolerable than either of them.”

“Yeah, he’s all right, for a kid.” Gavin drops the butt of his cigarette and crushes it beneath his boot. He pulls his jacket tighter around his thick torso. “So what are you gonna do about it? Keep sitting out here smoking in the cold?”

Niles finishes his second cigarette and similarly puts it out. “I’ll think of something.”

The porch door opens a crack, and Gavin side-steps to avoid getting hit. Hank pokes his head out. “Connor’s back and the turkey’s ready. It’s time to eat.”


	2. ii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings for a mention of self-harm and some murder stuff.

The last time Gavin had a real Thanksgiving dinner, he was subjected to ten minutes of prayer beforehand. There’s none of that pretense in the Anderson household: as soon as the food hits the plates, people are eating. Gavin doesn’t have to watch his gravy go cold while his mother rambles on about the Lord’s mercy and the audacity of sinners. 

There’s conversation, mostly between Hank, Connor, and Cole. Hank sits at the head of the table, with Connor to his left and Cole to his right. Gavin sits next to Cole and across from Niles, whose silence is conspicuous. At least, Gavin feels like it should be conspicuous. He can’t tell if Hank and Connor haven’t noticed Niles sulking, or if they’ve decided to willfully ignore it because they don’t want Connor’s petulant baby brother poking holes in their wholesome family holiday.

Connor and Niles are sitting beside each other, but the rift between them feels wide. Gavin doesn’t know what side of it to come down on—he isn’t involved and he doesn’t want to be. Plus, years as a detective and a brother lead him to believe that there’s more going on between Connor and Niles than either of them can or would reveal.

But it’s hard not to side with Niles. Because Gavin likes egging Hank on. Because Niles is hot, and Gavin wants him still. Gavin almost got a semi watching him smoke and drink on the porch—he looks like the love interest out of some teeny bopper vampire romance. Gavin briefly imagines Niles sucking on his neck hard enough to bruise and chokes on a green bean.

When he recovers, he finds Cole staring at him. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You’re supposed to chew your food before you swallow.”

“Thanks for the tip,” Gavin says, and takes a long drink of beer.

He can feel Niles staring at him. Connor and Hank are talking about pie. What they have left to do on this pie, how it’s Hank’s mother’s recipe, and they want to fly her up from Florida for winter break. Gavin meets Niles’s eye and Niles keeps staring, stirring his mashed potatoes absently. He’s barely touched his food.

Niles removes his fork from the potatoes and, his gaze still locked with Gavin’s, stabs a green bean. He raises it to his mouth, lets it hover around his lips, then bites it in half. Gavin’s eyes bug out of his head.

He glances at Connor and Hank, to see if they’ve noticed. Connor is laughing into his wine glass at something Hank has just said. Oblivious.

Gavin looks back to Niles, who’s taking a bite of mashed potatoes. Creamy, white, and he sucks on the fork afterward, and licks a speck from his bottom lip.

What the fuck is happening and why is it giving Gavin an actual fucking boner?

 _The kid is here_ , he reminds himself. Nothing less sexy than being stuck next to an eight-year-old clumsily scooping food into his mouth with a too-big fork. That helps.

If he keeps his eyes on his dinner, he can avoid whatever dark magic Niles is trying to do on him. That works for a couple of minutes, and he finishes most of what’s left on his plate. Soon he’ll be able to excuse himself and escape to the bathroom, where he can—catch his breath. Yeah, that’s what he’ll do. Just catch his breath.

Something brushes against his ankle under the table. Fuck.

He looks up. Niles winks at him. That something slides up Gavin’s calf. _Fuck_.

All he has to do is move his feet away and Niles won’t be able to reach his legs. It’s a simple solution, easy to execute. If only he could make his body move that way. If only he weren’t doing the exact fucking opposite—spreading his legs, extending them to mingle with Niles’s. Hoping his face isn’t as red as it feels.

“How is it, Gavin?”

Gavin flinches hard, disturbing his plate, which clatters against the table. “Huh?”

Connor is smiling at him. His cheeks are flushed—this is his third glass of wine. “The food. Was it good?”

“Oh, yeah. Everything was great.”

He feels Niles’s foot sliding up the inside of his leg. No shoes, just socks.

“Good,” says Connor. His smile is big and wide—is that what it looks like when Niles smiles? A genuine smile, happy and bright, not the smirks Gavin has seen. “I’m glad you came to dinner.”

“Me too,” says Niles. The first thing he’s said all through dinner. His foot is on the inside of Gavin’s thigh. Gavin hears Hank sigh; he can’t pull his gaze from Niles’s face. The foot just keeps getting closer to Gavin’s crotch—Niles has long legs, Jesus, and Gavin’s semi is back.

Cole pipes up: “I’m done with dinner. Can we have pie soon?”

“After we clear the table,” Hank says. Cole pouts. “If you help me carry stuff into the kitchen it’ll go faster. Why don’t you take everyone’s plates up?”

The after-dinner process begins. Cole gathers the empty plates with some help from his father. Connor tries to join them, but Hank refuses. “You’re not allowed to help with clean up,” he says. “You can whip the cream for the pie but after that you’re done for the night.” Connor pouts exactly like Cole did several seconds before. He tops off his wine glass while Niles drains the rest of his scotch. Family.

It happens. Niles’s foot drifts across the crotch of Gavin’s jeans.

Gavin shoots out of his chair. Niles’s foot thunks to the floor. “I’m gonna hit the bathroom. Where is it?”

“Down that hall. The first door on the left,” Connor replies, too tipsy to be curious. Gavin catches Niles grinning at him. Dick.

Gavin locks himself in the bathroom, swearing under his breath.

###

Niles has always used sex to work out his anger. He can’t pinpoint where that started, but he knows it’s a pattern and he’s come to terms with his coping mechanism. He struggles to express emotion and vulnerability, and fucking when he’s angry takes the guesswork out of the feeling and the act. When he needs to focus his attention, he springs for a hook-up—it gives him an outlet without exposing his pain. Similarly, when he wants to get off, he doesn’t have to stave off any bullshit tenderness or whatever else soft romantic types like to pin on the act. Love, intimacy. He goes to his default, the angry fuck. Cheaper than therapy.

See, he’s more self-aware than Connor knows. He understands his relationship with sex is avoidant and stunted. He just doesn’t _care_. Maybe it’s unhealthy, but so is smoking, and riding a motorcycle isn’t the safest life decision, statistically speaking. Who’s he got to be healthy for? A brother who replaced him with a happier, more whole family?

Throughout dinner, Connor seems blissfully unaware that his precious old fart of a boyfriend has spilled his secret. Saint Mary’s—it’ll suit Connor. Everyone there has a stick up their ass, so Connor should fit right in.

Niles doesn’t say much. Neither does Reed. Their interaction on the porch, the prying questions and all, gave Niles the impression that Gavin continues to be interested in him. There’s sense in that, what with him being desperately lonely and desperately horny. You don’t respond to an almost-stranger’s request for head if you’re not both of those things.

About halfway through the meal, for which Niles has little appetite, he decides he’s going to fuck Gavin. He can, and he—wants to, because he’s angry and he always lets anger lead him here, a Pavlovian response in the form of desire. Gavin is attractive enough, in a sort of clumsy overblown way, and he is Hank’s partner which makes him an amusing conquest. All signs point to fuck.

He doesn’t assume that this fuck will happen here and now. He has self-control. He can choose when it will happen, and how.

Then Gavin responds to his game of footsie. Leans into it, even. The look on Gavin’s face when Niles put his foot on the crotch of his jeans, how he jumped out of his chair like he’d been shocked. And he ran off to the bathroom.

Which leaves Niles still sitting at the dinner table with his brother. Hank and Cole clear the table around them. Connor is halfway to drunk on the white wine Niles brought him.

“Look at them,” he mutters, leaning sideways toward Niles. He’s all glossy-eyed, watching Hank coach Cole through the clean-up. “Imagine if Dad had been like that.”

Niles frowns and looks away from Hank and Cole. “That is extremely hard to imagine.”

“If he were, he might be here right now. Having dinner with us.”

“Why would you want that?”

Connor turns, looks at him, brows pinched. “If he’d been a better father, I meant.”

Niles’s mind wanders. This is not a game he wants to play. _What if Dad hadn’t sucked?_ Then Niles wouldn’t be Niles and Connor wouldn’t be Connor. It’s an absurd thing to wonder about. “Maybe,” says Niles, pulling his napkin from his lap and tossing it on the table. He doesn’t meet Connor’s eye, instead staring down the hall where Gavin went in such a hurry. Scared off by a light touch.

“One day we’ll go to Thanksgiving at Cole’s house,”says Connor, a bright dreamy quality to his voice. Who is _we_?

Perhaps Niles’s attention had been too much for Gavin—he did hump a carpet once, doesn’t seem farfetched that he’d get wood from a little footsie. Niles imagines him, back pressed against the bathroom door, desperately jerking off.

That’s when he decides the fuck is going to happen here and now. It seems imperative to take advantage of the situation while he can.

Niles gets up and heads down the hall. “Be right back.” He won’t, but it’ll be a while before Hank or Connor notices both he and Gavin are gone.

Behind him, he hears Connor say, “Henry, you are going to let me help clean up or—or I’m going to keep calling you Henry!”

“You’re supposed to be working on the pie, Con.”

“Oh—right. What do I need to do, again?”

Yeah, Niles has at least fifteen minutes before they realize.

He puts his ear to the bathroom door. There’s a sound, unidentifiable and muffled. He knocks gently.

“Uh—just—” Gavin sounds out of breath. Ha. “Out in a minute.”

Niles tries the door. Locked.

“I said—”

“Unlock it.”

There’s a long pause where Gavin has recognized his voice and is deciding what to do. “I’m shitting in here,” he says.

“You’re not. Unlock it.”

Niles hears, softer, “ _Fuck_.” The lock clicks. He doesn’t wait to be invited in.

Gavin isn’t shitting. He’s standing there with the fly of his jeans open and his hands attempting the shield his obvious hard-on from view. His face is red and flushed and he’s glaring, like he always seems to be doing.

Niles keeps his expression blank. He locks the door behind him.

Gavin swallows hard. They can’t be more than two feet apart, Niles can hear the sound his throat makes. “What do you want?”

Niles laughs flatly. Gavin continues glaring at him. “Is that a real question?” He takes a step toward Gavin, making that gap even smaller.

“Yeah, it is. My partner’s kid is practically in earshot.”

“So stop talking.”

“What’s your fucking problem? Do you _want_ your brother to catch you? It’s fucking sick—”

Niles lays a hand against the center of Gavin’s chest and he shuts up. The touch freezes his mouth in the midst of a word. Niles, with a tiny smile, slides his hand beneath the curve of Gavin’s pectoral. Down, tracing his ribs, then back to the center to feel his well-defined abdominal muscles. The examination ceases just above the hem of Gavin’s t-shirt, and the thin strip of skin between it and his underwear. If Niles were to drop his hand a few inches, he could be gripping Gavin’s dick through his underwear.

But he doesn’t drop his hand. He leaves it where it is, knowing how warm it must feel against Gavin’s lower stomach, how it must stoke his hard-on. Niles keeps his voice low—Gavin is right, they’re in earshot. “Is that really how you feel?”

Gavin’s breathing has gone ragged. “Just fucking do it, already,” he says. Niles leans in, hovering by his neck.

“Do what?”

“Don’t be a—you were feeling me up under the table, for fuck’s sake.”

“I was.” Niles watches Gavin’s eyes fall to his mouth. Niles keeps his lips parted. “Do you want it?”

Gavin’s hand folds over the one Niles has pressed against his abdomen. He tries to guide it down, toward his groin, toward his erection, his jaw tight. Niles doesn’t budge. “Come on,” Gavin says through his teeth. He drags at Niles’s wrist, and Niles relents, letting Gavin force his hand against the swell of his groin. Gavin makes a noise, a tiny gasp, again through his teeth. Niles grinds the heel of his palm down, against the firm heat of Gavin’s dick, and watches Gavin’s eyes fall closed.

Watching him is enjoyable. Amusing. The confined space of a half-bath doesn’t give them many options that allow Niles to watch, and he’s disappointed, until he spots his reflection in the mirror over the sink. A creative solution. He likes those.

“Shit, yeah,” says Gavin, practically bucking into Niles’s palm. “Like that.” He wraps an arm around Niles’s neck to steady himself, because he thinks that this is it, this is what they’re going to do, and he’s ready to get off rutting his crotch against a hand and a thigh. Funny how easy he is—Niles doesn’t have to worry about looking selfish when he could spit and make Gavin come.

Niles shoves Gavin’s arm off his shoulder and drags him around to face the sink and the mirror.

“What the—” Gavin starts, losing his words when Niles shoves down his jeans, revealing the bare curve of his ass.

Niles sneers at him in the mirror. “You’re wearing a jock strap.”

Gavin braces himself against the sink. “I’m a cop, I gotta chase down perps—”

“On Thanksgiving?”

“Yeah, ‘cause people stop doing illegal shit on holidays.”

Niles lets out a long breath and presses himself against Gavin’s back, letting him feel the heat and weight of his body, the stiffness of his dick. He brushes his head to Gavin’s, bringing their faces side-by-side in the mirror. “You were hoping for this. You thought about me.” He could be wrong, but he doesn’t care. He’ll hit on some truth with that statement.

Gavin licks his lips. “Maybe I was just out of clean boxers.” Niles sighs noncommittally, sliding his hands around Gavin’s hips and up beneath his t-shirt. Gavin is built enough that there’s plenty to hold onto, which Niles likes. Makes things more interesting. “You’re not fucking me raw, freaky dick.”

Niles leans back, continuing to touch Gavin everywhere but his erection. That would be too easy. “I have condoms.” In his wallet. He pulls one out and tosses it on the counter.

“You got lube?”

“No, but—” Niles reaches down and opens a drawer under the sink, then another. He finds what he’s looking for between a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and a tube of hemorrhoid cream. He kicks the drawers closed. “They do.”

Niles gives Gavin’s ass a hard squeeze, then slicks up his fingers. Gavin stands, still braced against the counter, head hanging. “You better make this quick,” he murmurs. “I’m not getting humiliated today.”

“You aren’t?” says Niles conversationally, pressing wet fingers between Gavin’s cheeks in search of his asshole. He finds it, and circles the muscle with his fingertip.

Gavin answers by stirring his hips and saying, “Shut the fuck up.” Niles does shut the fuck up, but he also pushes his finger inside of Gavin, and not as slowly or gently as he could. “ _Jesus!_ ”

“You said you wanted it quick.”

“I do, _fuck._ ”

“You should be quieter.” Gavin glances up at him in the mirror, his expression twisted and his mouth open. He nods. Niles’s dick pulses—he’ll get to it soon enough. Quick is good, quick is right.

So he doesn’t hesitate in fingering Gavin. It’s fun on its own, fingering, working a tight asshole until it’s soft and pliable, but they have maybe ten minutes left in the clear and he wants to spend it watching himself fuck Gavin in a bathroom mirror. Fingering will have to wait.

Wait. Until when? Next time? Is he going to keep having casual sex with Gavin Reed? He’s already regretted the lack of anonymity once, and this is not an improvement on that situation.

But he’s not going to deal with that now. He might end up talking himself out of what he’s about to do, and what a shame that would be—Gavin might be obnoxious but what’s happening right now, secret rushed sex, is hot.

He sinks his finger deep enough to press Gavin’s prostate. Doing this fast doesn’t mean it can’t be good.

“Fuck,” says Gavin, much quieter. If Niles had to guess, there’s going to be a lot of that in the next few minutes. Niles adds a second finger, sinking it in slow until it’s as deep as the first, then pulling them apart until Gavin makes a noise. “You’re really enjoying sticking— _mffh_ —your fingers up my unwashed asshole?”

“Yes. Does that surprise you?”

“Just figured you’d rather be getting your dick wet.”

“Oh, I would.”

“Then fucking do it. It’s not like I’m new at this.”

Niles retracts his fingers. “All right.” He wipes them on the front piece of Gavin’s jock strap. He’s extremely hard, now, and grunts at the slight touch. Gavin is cocky (pun intended), but Niles isn’t going to argue whether or not he’s ready. It could be fun to watch his expression when he realizes the mistake he’s made.

Niles steps back to unbutton his jeans and free his erection. He uses his teeth to open the condom—slippery hands—and slides it on. Miraculously, Gavin isn’t touching himself while he waits. Instead he remains calm, head down, breathing ragged but deliberate. Niles applies more lube.

The most warning he gives is pulling Gavin’s ass cheeks apart while he lines his dick up. Other than that, there’s no pomp or circumstance around him pushing inside. No murmured _are you ready?_ No ceremonial kiss. He just shoves in, and looks up so he can watch Gavin’s face while he goes deeper. Gavin’s mouth opens further with each inch, until Niles bottoms out and has to wait for Gavin to get his shit back together.

“Jesus Christ,” Gavin hisses.

Niles cranes forward and brushes his lips against Gavin’s neck. “You could try saying my name instead of his.”

“Keep dreaming, freak.”

Niles pulls out a few inches and slams back in. Gavin bites down on a scream—Niles can tell it’s a scream from the way his torso trembles. His ass is tight and soft and searingly warm on Niles’s dick, and it’s warm in the bathroom, too. There’s condensation at the corners of the mirror. They’ve both started to sweat, and Niles only sweats more as he moves out again, and back in, beginning a slow rhythm, his hands on Gavin’s hips to keep them steady and pull Gavin’s ass even tighter against him. Gavin looks up at him in the mirror and the expression on his face is worth any amount of risk they’ve taken by doing what they’re doing right now—his eyes have gone unfocused, his cheeks are flushed red, there’s spit gathering at the corners of his open mouth as he salivates. It’s antithetical to the glare he’s worn the entire night, and only more delicious for that.

And they’re only just getting started. The training wheels are still on, so to speak. Niles tests several faster thrusts—Gavin shuts his mouth to cover a moan. Then, “Jesus, fuck me.” What is with him and Jesus? Can he not say _Niles_?

Niles puts a hand on Gavin’s shoulder and pulls him down, hard, impaling Gavin on his dick. Gavin screws his eyes shut in surprise, but he gets the message.

“Fuck me, _Niles_.”

Niles laughs and fucks him as requested.

Gavin’s knuckles are white from gripping the edges of the counter. Niles starts pounding him and he moves one to the faucet, twisting his hips, probably so that his prostate gets the most of Niles’s thrusts. He keeps swearing, a lot of _fuck_ and _shit,_ all under his breath. He doesn’t say Niles’s name again, but he isn’t saying anything of much coherence. Niles watches him swallowing gasps and moans in the mirror, eyes closed and head bowed. He’s trying to be quiet, but there’s a shame about the noises, too. Like he doesn’t want Niles to know how good it feels. Perhaps it’s embarrassing to vocally enjoy sex when your partner’s most salient emotion is thinly veiled rage.

He glances at himself in the mirror, too, but the glower on his face and the blotches of red in his skin make him want to look away. To focus on something else.

He stops thrusting for a moment, still deep in Gavin’s ass. He reaches around and removes Gavin’s leaking cock from the strap, then grabs Gavin’s chin. He lifts Gavin’s face so he’s staring at himself in the mirror. “Watch.”

When Niles starts pounding him again, Gavin’s erection shakes with each thrust, and he’s staring at himself in the mirror, stifling noises in his throat. Niles gets the feeling he’s not the only one who’s into the mirror thing.

Gavin starts to jerk himself off. Niles can’t blame him—it’s not like he was planning to do it on Gavin’s behalf. A part of him wonders if he could make Gavin come untouched from a thorough ass fucking, but that could take time they don’t have. So let Gavin get himself off, sure; he’s closer than Niles, you can see it in his face, and the frantic movement of his hand on his dick. Gavin’s enthusiasm and nearness and desperation fuel Niles in his work, making him fuck faster and harder and deeper, right at the angle that Gavin arranged. Beads of sweat form on Niles’s brow.

He’s going to emerge from the bathroom in a few minutes looking and smelling like he’s just off a workout, though this kind of thing is the most exercise he ever gets.

“Fuck, shit, I’m gonna come,” Gavin whispers. His eyes shut tightly and he whimpers, his wrist at its maximum speed. Niles bends down and kisses the back of his neck, rough and quick, tasting the salt from his sweat.

As promised, Gavin comes. In the sink, and on the mirror that they’re both so fond of. Niles wraps an arm around his chest and pulls them together, fucking him through it, not letting up even a little, even after he’s empty. Let Gavin keep taking him, refractory period be damned. Niles would be kidding himself if he said he didn’t like to watch overstimulation unfold, and Gavin hasn’t told him to stop—no, Gavin is staring at him in the mirror, eyes half-lidded. There’s drool on his chin.

Niles lets it happen. He looks Gavin in the eye while fucking him from behind, in the mirror of a bathroom in his brother’s house, with his so-called family just steps away, and it’s fucking fantastic. Unethical and unsanitary and unwise, but fucking fantastic.

Niles is getting closer and a lot of that has to do with Gavin’s complete lack of protest. He just takes it, mouth open, drool flowing, cupping his emptied dick. Apart from the occasional grunt and spitting his excessive saliva into the sink, where it mingles with his cum, Gavin’s only reaction is to watch, riveted, as Niles uses him. He likes it, wants it that way. He’s a willing receptacle. Maybe it makes him feel necessary.

Pressure mounts in Niles’s hips and he speeds up, seizing on the opportunity for orgasm. It’s a bit of a scramble, and he wraps his arms around Gavin’s torso, his chest flush with Gavin’s back. As he fucks upward erratically and reaches the edge, he buries his face in the crook of Gavin’s neck, and he smells leather and cologne and sweat as he tumbles into orgasm.

It’s good. A nice one.

Intense.

Perhaps that’s to be expected, under the circumstances. Stakes and emotions running high, multiplying the sensations, adding depth and color to the warm that pulses through his body. Niles flinches hard in the middle of it, thrusting weakly, and he feels Gavin’s hands on his arms. Holding him steady, pulling them closer, as close as they can be. Niles bites down on the sound he wants to make, and even that groan is muffled by Gavin’s jacket.

Niles’s body goes slack. He leans forward over the sink, wrapping around Gavin, who doesn’t make a sound, not even ragged breathing.

Niles lifts his head. Their faces are side by side in the mirror. Gavin appears to be concentrating hard, holding his breath. His pupils are blown and his lips remain parted.

He raises a hand and touches Niles’s face. He runs two fingertips along the line of Niles’s cheekbone.

A strange feeling stirs in the pit of Niles’s stomach. He steps back, sliding out of Gavin’s ass. Removes the condom, ties it off, drops it in the trash, then tucks himself away and does up his jeans. He’s still panting a little, but it’s getting better. He wipes his face on a hand towel while Gavin pulls up pants.

Gavin turns around and they’re face-to-face—really face-to-face, no mirror, nowhere to hide. He can feel Gavin searching his expression for—something. Something he’s not going to find. And fuck him if he says a word.

Niles intercepts whatever stupidity is on the tip of Gavin’s tongue. “You should probably clean the cum off that mirror.”

Gavin glances behind him at the offending mess. “Fuck.”

Niles unlocks the door and slips out of the bathroom before Gavin can say anything else to him.

When he returns to the kitchen, Connor is messily whipping cream for his pie; Cole watches and laughs wildly when Connor sprays himself in the face. Hank stands over the sink scrubbing the huge dish that held the turkey. He’s the only one who notices Niles is back. He looks him up and down and raises an eyebrow.

“You okay? You look a little flushed.”

“It’s the scotch,” says Niles, and he pours himself another two fingers.

Gavin enters the kitchen a couple of minutes later. Hank looks at him—also flushed, the sheen of sweat on his face—and then at Niles, who has returned in his seat at the table. Niles gives Hank a smile. Hank frowns, clears his throat, and resumes scrubbing dishes.

Gavin won’t look at Niles. It’s just as well.

“Okay,” says Connor, turning to face his family and friends. “The pie is ready!”

Over dessert, Cole insists everyone say what they’re thankful for. He got that from school, Niles guesses—elementary school teachers like to make this day about gratefulness, as opposed to bullshit handholding between indigenous peoples and their colonist oppressors.

Cole is thankful for pumpkin pie and Sumo.

Hank is thankful for his family. He looks at Connor when he says that, and Connor smiles. They’re an unbearable cliché.

They’re still staring at each other when Connor says, “I’m thankful for new opportunities. And moving on.”

Barf. Niles makes them wait for him to finish his drink before he answers the prompt. “For winter.” His favorite time of year, even if he’s got to put his bike away. “And getting what you want.” He’s unbothered by the way Hank squints at him. Maybe Gavin had a point about him wanting to get caught.

Speaking of Gavin: it’s his turn, and he lifts his head and looks around the table. All their eyes are on him. “I’m just happy to be here,” he says. He glances at Niles then quickly looks away. How fucking obvious of him.

As soon as everyone is done with their pie, Gavin announces, “I should get going before the roads get icy.”

Niles jumps on the chance to say, “You make a good point.”

“Oh no,” says Hank, standing at the same time as Niles. “You’re not driving.”

Hmm. Shouldn’t have claimed the flush was alcohol-induced. “I’m fine,” he protests, but it won’t get him anywhere.

“You can sleep on the pull-out bed in the office,” Connor offers.

And spend another moment in this house? “No, thank you.”

“Then I’m driving you,” says Hank. “I’ll grab my keys.”

Connor objects while his Thanksgiving disbands around him: “Neither of you wants leftovers? Or more pie? We have plenty of turkey—I’ll make you both plates—”

Gavin departs first. Hank and Connor see him to the door, leaving Niles in the kitchen with Cole. Niles leans against the counter while Cole picks bits of turkey from a dirty plate and feeds them to Sumo.

“Why’s my dad got to drive you home?”

“Because I’ve had too much to drink.” Realizing that might not be clear to a kid, he adds, “Too much alcohol.”

“What is alcohol?”

“You know that stuff that Connor drinks on special nights?”

Cole’s eyes go big, understanding. “Oh, his grown-up grape juice?”

Niles snorts. “Yes. It makes us silly.”

“I know, Connor is funny when he has it.”

“He is, isn’t he?”

Hank returns to the kitchen and claps his hands. “Okay! Let’s go. Cole—don’t give that to the dog, c’mon—say goodnight to Niles.”

Niles freezes with his hands up as Cole envelops his waist in a hug, chirping, “Goodnight, Niles!” The sensation of that pint-sized hug follows him out to the car.

###

Niles moves his bike into the garage for storage and they climb into Hank’s SUV. Hank starts the car silently, pulls out of the driveway. The quiet is fragile and, Niles guesses, temporary.

“So,” says Hank, as they hit the road. “I want you to tell me what happened.”

Niles keeps his eyes straight ahead. “What do you mean?”

“I’m giving you a chance to come clean, Niles. Admitting it could earn you a lot of good will.”

Niles laughs. It’s a bitter, dry sound. “Why should I say something you already know?”

“Because I want to hear it from you. Maybe getting your side of the story will make you look like less of an ass—because right now, with what I know, I’m struggling.”

“You sound like a cop,” says Niles tiredly, resting his head against the window.

“I _am_ a cop, asshole. And I know you think I’m a fucking idiot, but even a fucking idiot—you’re lucky Connor was too tipsy to notice you two disappearing for twenty minutes. And there’s a used condom in the bathroom wastebasket—”

“Maybe you fucked my brother and forgot?”

“Actually, we don’t use condoms. That’s what happens when you don’t have sex with any willing hole.”

It’s silent for a long time. Niles thinks about opening the car door and flinging himself onto the pavement. If he’s lucky it’d kill him.

“Sorry,” says Hank, finally, in an exhale. “It’s—I get that it’s your life and you do what you want. Not trying to judge. But there’s got to be limits.”

“There are always limits.”

“This night was important to Connor. You know that.”

“What he doesn’t know—”

“You need to tell him.”

Niles swallows hard. He looks sideways at Hank, whose eyes are fixed on the road ahead. “Why?”

“Not about the sex.” Hank clears his throat. “Tell him you don’t want him to take the job at Saint Mary’s. It’s not like he hit you and now you gotta hit back, you aren’t kids anymore. He has no idea it’s important to you.”

Fuck. Niles bows his head. This is why he doesn’t like Hank, he’s just so—he never lets anything lie like it should. That’s all Niles was trying to do. Let it lie.

“At least consider it,” Hank sighs. “For geniuses, you two are pretty fucking dense.”

“What about Gavin?”

He notes Hank tossing him a curious look. “What about him?”

“Are you going to ream him too?”

“I’ll find a way to get back at Gavin.” The car merges onto a highway. They’re halfway to Niles’s apartment, now. “It’s not like you and him are an item. Right?”

Niles bites his lip. It should be invisible in the car’s darkness. “Right.”

Hank catches the moment of hesitation, because of course he does, the Sherlockian bastard. “ _Is_ that right?”

“I’m not sure. It might happen again.”

“Then you’re—dating?”

“ _No_. No. It’s casual sex.”

“Huh.” Hank doesn’t know what to say to that, so he shakes his head. “You know what? Pretty soon Reed’s not going to be my problem anymore. So do whatever you want with the miserable bastard.”

Niles raises an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

“I’m retiring at the end of the year.”

“Oh,” Niles manages.

“Cole’s at the age where he’s going to start remembering the shit I bring home. Even if I don’t mean to. And we—we’re thinking about another kid, which with Connor’s hours—”

“You and Connor are going to have a kid?” Niles hears Connor’s voice saying, _I’m thankful for new opportunities. And moving on._

“Uh.” Hank drums his fingers on the steering wheel. He’s nervous, suddenly. “We’d adopt, probably. We’re thinking about it. In a couple years.”

They’ve reached the end of Niles’s block. “Can you let me out here? I want to walk the rest of the way. I need a cigarette.”

Hank pulls over. He frowns while Niles fumbles for his lighter and smokes. “You need to talk to him, kid.”

“Connor or Gavin?”

Hank scoffs. “If you have to ask, maybe it's both.”

###

The bell rings, signaling the end of another school day. Through the glass windows along the library, Niles can watch the students flooding from their classrooms, bundled up to their ears, toddling in single-file lines in front of their teachers.

He waits for the initial rush to fade and leaves the library behind for Connor’s classroom. It’s a week since Thanksgiving—enough time for Niles to get over himself and see the truth of what Hank said to him. He is starting to understand what Connor sees in Hank, his earthy appeal. They’re still gross as a couple, just slightly less nonsensical.

Connor’s classroom is empty; he’ll be out for a few minutes escorting his students to their buses and cars. Niles takes a seat at his desk. It’s immaculate, at usual, and there’s a new addition to the small collection of bric-a-brac: a framed photograph. Hank and Cole at the beach, smiling. A year ago Connor had told Niles that he would never be out at work. At least Hank has made him braver.

“Hi,” says Connor’s voice. Niles blinks—his brother is standing on the other side of the desk, hands clasped primly behind his back. “That’s my seat.”

“Just borrowing it.”

“I’ll allow that.” Connor moves toward the coatrack in the corner of the room, where his jacket and bag are hanging. “Do you need a ride home?”

“No.”

Connor frowns. Usually when Niles shows up in Connor’s classroom after school, he wants something. And Niles _does_ want something, but it’s not a ride home. “Can we talk for a minute?” he asks.

“Yes.” Connor finishes shrugging into his jacket. “Is everything all right?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

Niles exhales slowly. This shouldn’t be hard—when has he ever been one to mince words? He’s never hesitated with Connor before. Then again, he’s never had to say this before. “Don’t go to Saint Mary’s.”

Connor looks at him, blank-faced. There are gears turning behind his eyes, putting together how Niles found out. “Why?”

“Because.” Niles tongues the inside of his cheek. “I like working with you. And we said we would go where we were most needed, not where our jobs would be easiest.”

Connor’s mouth twitches. It takes Niles a second to interpret that as a smile. “I didn’t know it was that important to you.”

Niles swings the chair away from Connor. “Of course it is. You’re my brother.”

“It’s important to me, too. I already turned Saint Mary’s down.”

Niles swings back toward him, too vigorously. He has to catch the edge of the desk to stop himself. “When?”

“A couple of days ago. I would have done it sooner if I knew how you felt.”

“You didn’t tell me you were considering it,” Niles says, an edge in his voice for the first time during this conversation.

Connor’s little smile vanishes. They stare at each other for a moment.

Niles turns away again.

“You haven’t agreed with my choices, lately,” Connor says. “I’m happy, but you don’t seem very happy for me.” Niles pulls his bottom lip between his teeth. “I thought that if I told you I was thinking about another change, you’d be angry.”

“I _am_ angry.”

“Why?” Connor’s voice cracks. It’s sad, and Niles sinks down in the chair. “Why are you angry with me?”

“Because—we used to make sandwiches with deli turkey on Thanksgiving. And sit around, and watch anything besides the parade. We used to celebrate the fact that we didn’t have to see Dad anymore.” And now Connor wonders out loud about their father, what their life might have been like if he were different. No wonder he likes Hank, he’s living out that fantasy—Niles always thought he was better than that.

Connor is frowning deeply. “Do you really miss turkey sandwiches?”

He’s frustratingly dense. Niles snaps. “No, idiot, I miss my brother.”

“I didn’t go anywhere.”

“You did, you went and slotted right into someone else’s nuclear family.”

“Niles, that’s absurd.” It’s Connor’s turn to snap. “You are my brother, and you will always be my brother, and if my family is growing it only means that yours is too.”

There is very little wiggle room for Niles in that statement. He keeps looking for it—for the way that he’s right and Connor is wrong—and coming up empty-handed.

“I’m sorry if that wasn’t clear before,” says Connor, gentler, but still firm.

“It certainly is now.” Niles smacks his lips—is that the taste of his foot in his mouth? “I… am also sorry.” Connor waits for him to expand on that and he shrugs. “There are too many things. It’s a blanket apology.” Connor is not the only person he owes an apology. He feels like he’s sinking; is this what it’s like to be humble?

“I’ll accept yours if you accept mine.”

“Consider it done,” Niles says, and clears his throat.

Connor grabs his bag from the coatrack. “Why don’t you come over for dinner tonight? No special occasion, just… family dinner.”

Niles nods. Connor offers him a smile. It’s the same smile, right-side-up, he used when they were children and Niles couldn’t get to sleep, when he worried about school or felt hurt by their father. Connor would poke his head down from the top bunk and smile that smile, upside-down, and Niles would laugh and feel better.

Change is relative, Niles supposes. The two of them have survived being miserable—why should happiness break them?

“Connor,” Niles says, as he and his brother walk out together. “Do you think you could have Hank send me Gavin Reed’s phone number?”

###

Gavin’s job is his life.

Sometimes he hates his life.

Today started out fine, maybe even good. Then late morning he and Hank get called to a crime scene. A bad one, the worst he’s seen in years. A mom and her three kids, bludgeoned. The father makes a run for it when they go to question him and Gavin chases the fucker six blocks before he can tackle him.

Gavin hasn’t vomited since his first week on the job, but this one tests him. There’s a lot of blood.

The processing takes hours. They don’t get out until eleven, making this a fourteen-hour day.

They’re about to part ways in the parking lot, and Hank stops short. “Hey—”

Gavin can’t do better than a glower. He doesn’t appreciate the delay.

“You should hear it from me and not the captain.”

“Hear what?”

Hank scratches his beard. “I’m retiring. Week before Christmas is my last.”

The glower melts from Gavin’s face. “What the fuck?”

“I’ve been working toward it for years, Reed. Giving up my command—”

“I thought you were just a shit Lieutenant,” Gavin snaps. He’s seen that happen, Lieutenants fucking up, losing their responsibility but not their title. 

“Nope. I was a great Lieutenant.” Hank grins, then the grin shrinks. “I thought you’d be excited to get a new partner. Someone younger—”

“Who is it?”

“Chris Miller.”

Gavin’s body tenses. He swallows the urge to punch something—the nearest thing to them in the parking garage is a car, and it’d hurt like hell. “Miller just got his detective shield, I’m gonna have to teach him _everything_ —”

“Yep,” says Hank, hands in his pockets. “He really needs you.”

Gavin’s not stupid. He can see what Hank is doing, trying to make him feel less—betrayed. Failing to point out that if Gavin hated Hank like he claims, he’d be happy to see him go, not angry. “Whatever,” says Gavin, in lieu of _thank you_. He starts for his car. “I need this fucking day to be over.”

“‘Night, Gav,” Hank calls after. Gavin waves over his shoulder.

By the time he’s home and walking up to his apartment, he’s completely forgotten a text exchange he had this morning, hours before any of this shit went down. He doesn’t remember until he sees Niles leaning against the door of his apartment in a long black coat and a turtleneck. Waiting for him.

“I assumed you’d be home by now. Long day?” He indicates the scratch on Gavin’s cheek from his tussle with their suspect.

Gavin pulls out his keys. “Move.”

Niles obliges, and Gavin unlocks the apartment. This is just great, the cherry on top of today’s shit sundae. He’s going to turn down sex one time and Niles is going to think he’s not good for a hook-up. There goes any hope for future fucks, on days when Gavin hasn’t just worked a triple murder and found out his partner is retiring.

Niles follows him inside silently. Gavin falls onto his couch still in his shoes and jacket. Niles flips the lights on, forcing Gavin to acknowledge him.

“Look,” says Gavin. “I’m not in the mood.” Niles steps beside the couch and peers down at him curiously. Gavin glares.

“Neither am I.”

“Then why are you here?”

“To talk to you.”

Gavin makes a face, confused. Niles asked to come over so they could— _talk_. Niles takes a seat in the armchair opposite the couch.

“Not really in the mood to talk, either,” Gavin grunts.

“I owe you an apology.” Niles pronounces each syllable in _apology_ , as though he’s just learning the word.

Gavin sits up, staring.

“I used you,” Niles explains.

“We used each other.”

“No. I used you for more than sex.” The words _more than sex_ send a tremor through Gavin. “To get back at my brother, and Hank—”

“I know that. I don’t care.”

“You would if you thought better of yourself.” Niles sounds confident when he says that, but it wavers as soon as the words leave his mouth. “A healthy person would be angry with me for involving him in my family’s… issues.”

Gavin runs his hands over his face and into his hair. “Then I guess I’m not a very healthy person, huh?”

A long beat passes. Gavin shifts in his seat, perching on the edge of the couch. Niles’s gaze drifts upward. “I’m not either,” he admits.

“You? No fucking way,” says Gavin, deadpan.

The corner of Niles’s mouth turns up. “That’s funny.” He reaches in his pocket. “Can I smoke in here?”

“Yeah.” He watches Niles light a cigarette and feels an odd pang in his chest. Gavin is raw tonight, all his nerve endings exposed. He can’t find the front he usually puts up. “I like you.”

Niles pauses, hands still cupping his lighter. He’s like granite, unreadable, unyielding. But Gavin loves running into walls over and over again, doesn’t he.

Gavin continues, “I don’t know why you’re here if you don’t want to hook up—”

“Because I owed you an apology.”

“Yeah, but why do you care what you owe me?” Gavin sits forward, shaking his head. “Did you know I like you? And you feel bad because you don’t like me, because you were just using me.”

Niles exhales and cigarette smoke clouds the space between them. When it clears, Niles tilts his head in the tiniest nod.

“Right. But the thing is, I already knew that. I’m not an idiot. I knew what you were doing. What you thought you were doing, anyway.”

“I’m sorry,” says Niles weakly.

“Don’t say you’re sorry, I like you and I wanted to fuck you. Even if it meant nothing to you. And I want to keep doing it—not tonight, but tomorrow and the next day—whenever.”

“That’ll start to wear on you.”

“Yeah, and it’ll wear on you too.”

Niles blinks rapidly. He knocks ash into a cigarette tray on the coffee table. So this is what it looks like when he’s shaken—mild, like every other emotion he offers up.

“What is it,” Niles asks, “that you like about me so much that you’d put yourself through that?”

Gavin snorts. “You’d know if you thought better of yourself.”

Niles shuts his eyes and smiles, or perhaps that’s a grimace. Gavin could take him by the shoulders and shake him, or—he steps over the coffee table and kneels in front of the armchair where Niles sits. Niles opens his eyes just as Gavin leans in to kiss him.

Gavin moves his mouth against Niles’s, tongue on the roof of his mouth, fingers light on his jaw. He tastes like cigarettes, no surprise. He feels like velvet, wonderful.

When Gavin pulls away, Niles doesn’t close his mouth. He looks like he’s been struck by lightning, or maybe a stunning revelation. “You need therapy,” Gavin scoffs. He pulls away and gets to his feet.

Niles shuts his mouth. He puts out his cigarette. “Maybe.”

“I’m tired,” Gavin tells him. “I’m gonna go sleep until noon. Crash here if you want.” He moves around the armchair, heading for the inviting darkness of his bedroom. “I won’t tell anyone we didn’t fuck.”

He kicks off his shoes, his jeans, his coat, and falls into bed in boxers and a t-shirt.

A couple of minutes later, the bed dimples beside him, and he smells cigarettes.

“There’s hair on this pillow,” Niles mutters.

“The cat likes that pillow.”

“You have a cat?”

“Yeah,” Gavin sighs, rolling onto his side, away from Niles. “He’s around here somewhere.”

“Hmm,” says Niles. Gavin can hear the smile in his voice. “I like cats.”


End file.
